Sometimes It Never Leaves You
by Evita Camillio
Summary: For those of you that like the work of Miss Kitty Fantastico, here's a look through the eyes of Zoey's arch-nemisis Evita - on a baaad day.


Author's Note - This is going to be rather hard to explain, seeing as how it's the first time I've posted anything about this character. If any of you have read Miss Kitty Fantastico's work, you'll know that Evita Camillio is a 4000-year-old immortal, working for Angel's Investigations. She was highborn in the Roman Empire, second cousin to the infamous Julius Caesar, who had a big nose. The story below has very little plot, except that sometimes even the most stable people can be overwhelmed sometimes. If you like it, great (I love you forever!), but ultimately this is just to see how people like my writing style. Jeesh, I babble...go ahead and read!

  
  


Disclaimer - Don't own Angel or Penn; they're Joss's (who is not G-d), and I don't want 'em. Zoey is Miss Kitty's, and I don't want her either (tee hee). Evita is mine and mine only. 

  
  
  
  


_Sometimes it never leaves you..._

  
  


He entered the room _very_ slowly, advancing towards a situation that could easily go up in flames in a matter of seconds. "'Vita, it's me. Angel. Now listen to me, I want you to put the crossbow down, and come away from there..."

  
  


The immortal stared at him. He wondered for a moment if he hadn't been clear enough...but her stance was proud and tense, her violet eyes flaming...she'd understood him. Something was very wrong here.

  
  


He moved forward cautiously. Penn was staring at him with wide vampire eyes above the gag over his mouth; he was tied to the chair he was seated upon and though it was obvious he was straining with all his might, the knots remained secure. There was a tinge of magic in the room, overlaid with a kind of electric energy that made the hair on the back of Angel's neck tingle. He began again. "Evita, what do you think you're doing?"

  
  


She rewarded him with a scornful glare and a toss of her wild chestnut mane. Her hair was always uncontrollably wavy, but it seemed as though she had paid no attention to it at all; she was not behaving at all like the normally cynical and nonchalant secretary that she usually was. Angel saw her hand tighten on the crossbow, and heard the click as she turned off the safety.

  
  


"Evita..." 

  
  


"Do you know what I dreamed about last night, Angel?" She asked suddenly. 

  
  


Angel stopped moving, unsure as to how to answer the bizarre question.

  
  


"I rarely dream," she continued, as though simply making polite conversation. "Most likely because I rarely sleep, for that exact reason. Dreams are terribly inconvenient; they have a tendency to remind you of things you'd rather forget. Do you know what I woke up remembering?"

  
  


Angel held out his hands. "Evita, I want you to listen to me..."

  
  


But Evita wasn't paying attention. She straightened, drawing herself up to her full height, eyes dark. "They called them the Dark Ages for a reason, Angel. The Black Plague was everywhere; no one was safe. The rich died just as quickly as the poor, and as always I was there but not part. It seemed like the world was filled with a panic I couldn't share."

  
  


"Y-you wanted to die," Angel said, deciding the best course of action was to play along and talk her into calming down. 

  
  


"No," she contradicted coldly. "I wanted to live. I spent so many years being dead when everything about me was alive, and I wanted to live again. So do you know what I did?"

  
  


Angel shook his head, inching his way ever so closer.

  
  


"I became the plague's ally. The people became as much afraid of me as of the Black Death. For five hundred years, before you were even born, vampire, they cursed my name and damned me to hell. They could have saved their breath before I darkened their doors to take it from them in person."

  
  


"What's this about, Evita?"

  
  


"I had to belong to something," Evita continued inexorably. Her stony gaze bored into him. "Isn't that what you felt, when you and Drusilla and William the Bloody were about terrorizing England? It didn't matter about the condition of your soul; you just had to be part of something, not always on the other side of the windowpane. That's why you tried to kill the Slayer; as long as you had a purpose, you had a life. It was wrong, there are other ways, but...I loved it, Angel!"

  
  


She said it suddenly; with such raw emotion that Angel froze in place.

  
  


"Evita, sometimes you can get caught up in...carried away by..."

  
  


"You can become a different person. But you never put it behind you," she said. The crossbow raised a hair or two, centering on Penn's heart. She began to pull the trigger.

  
  


"Angel, where did you put the...?" Zoey came through the door.

  
  


"No!" Angel yelled, as suddenly the still room exploded into chaos. Penn rocked the chair over backwards and landed on the floor with a thud, even as Evita changed her aim to Zoey. With a burst of energy, Angel crashed into her, sending the crossbolt thudding into the wall inches from its intended target. Zoey, taking in the scene and the quivering piece of wood beside her, ran for Penn.

  
  


"What the f*** was that?" the dark haired vampire screamed, ripping the gag out of Penn's mouth and untying him from the chair. "What the hell...?!!!!"

  
  


Angel wasn't paying attention. Beneath him, Evita had gone still; he quickly got up. Her glorious eyes were glazed, somehow seeing things that weren't there. Without even looking he restrained his sister from charging at her in a blind fury.

  
  


"Evita?" He questioned softly.

  
  


"You never put it behind you," she murmured. Suddenly, for the first time since he had ever laid eyes on her, she began to cry.

  
  


He sat there rocking her even after Cordelia and Wesley and Doyle came in, demanding to know what the noises had been. He sat there with her through Penn's recounting of his kidnapping and torture and narrow escape. He sat there with her through Zoey's murderous tirade, through the accusing and confused stares of the others. He held her and absorbed the 4000 years of pain that she had never shared, never voiced, never felt...because she'd thought she was alone. 


End file.
